Leather Motorcycle Trousers
by SwissMiss1
Summary: Peter Pettigrew reeeally wants to be a Marauder. But first he has to look the part. One-shot, gen.


**Author's Notes**: This was written for **first_order**'s drabble-a-thon as well as the second challenge of **harrypotter_las**. The drabble-a-thon prompt by **lar_laughs** was 'Peter Pettigrew/Time to sink or swim' and the **harrypotter_las** challenge prompt was 'leather'. It came in third for the challenge, with 2 votes. Thank you to whoever voted for it! :D

**Disclaimer**: _This is a work of fan fiction, based on the Harry Potter universe, which was created by J.K. Rowling, who owns the copyrights, along with Scholastic Books, Warner Bros., and other large and scary corporations. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made._

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**Leather Motorcycle Trousers**

Peter closed the door to the third-year boys' dorm and cast a somewhat wobbly Locking Spell on it. He knew it wouldn't keep the others out for long, but at least it would give him a few seconds to get rid of the evidence.

He leaned back and took a deep breath, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. If James and Sirius caught him, it would put the kibosh on any hopes he had of becoming one of their gang. Oh, they didn't mind him tagging along, not enough to send him away, anyway. But he knew they didn't really consider him on par with them.

He wasn't, either. Especially not this year, when Sirius had turned up on the Express with a new, rumbly voice and hair in surprising places, and James had shot up about a foot and got muscles all up and down his arms. Peter had always loved to watch the two of them, the ease with which they moved and laughed, their thick, dark hair falling into their eyes and being pushed back with practiced fingers, and especially James' hands when he tossed a Snitch around, or Sirius' legs when he stretched out across the sofa in the common room. Sirius' legs were long and firm, and filled out his trousers with just the right amount of slack. Peter's own trousers either felt like sausage casings or a tent, depending on whether he was outgrowing or growing into them.

And this year, Sirius had brought something very special for those legs, something that made Peter self-conscious about watching him: a pair of black leather, Muggle trousers, with fringe down the sides and metal studs at the seams. Sirius said they were 'biker's trousers', and that Muggles wore them when they rode their 'hogs'. All Peter knew was, when Sirius wore them, it felt like Peter's eyes were magnetically drawn to all of the bulges and creases up and down their length.

He didn't want anyone to think he was queer or anything. It was more of a jealous admiration he felt, rather than a hormonal attraction. He'd arrived at the conclusion that, what with the rumbling and the muscles and those oh-so-beautiful legs, Sirius and James were going to realize that Peter was nothing more than a soft, squeaky kid, a liability when it came to girls. He needed to make that transformation as well, needed to catch up to them, or they'd leave him drifting in their wake - not even that, he'd sink to the bottom without them. He'd be nothing.

Which is why he was now taking advantage of their both being down in the lounge, trying to impress Lily, Ava, and Emmeline with their antics. Remus, their fourth dormmate, was in the library, as usual.

Nervously checking the door once more, he knelt by Sirius' trunk and cast the series of Unlocking Charms he'd figured out. He might be pants at securing doors, but he was _very_ good at getting past locks, even magical ones. It was one of the reasons, he was certain, that Sirius and James had even shown an interest in him in the first place, after they'd caught him rifling through James' things in first year. Oh, he'd assured them that their newly developed charms and wards for their trunks were now beyond even his ability to crack, but in reality they were predictable, and it hadn't taken him more than fifteen minutes alone with them to undo. Now that he knew the trick, he was through them in just a few seconds, his prize revealed.

There they lay, right on top. The material crunched and squeaked as Peter reverently picked the trousers up and lifted them to his face. He breathed in the dusky smell of the cured skin, tinged with the sharp scent that he recognized as Sirius'.

He couldn't afford to waste any more time. He stood, fingers scrabbling at the fastenings of his school uniform. He kicked and grunted until he'd managed to leave his trousers in a scrunched-up pile, and grabbed the leather ones. As fast as he dared, he stuck his legs in and worked them down through the stiff material. It was a good job Sirius was that much bigger than him; he was just able to squeeze his hips in. The fly was button-up, Peter was excited to find, but he couldn't manage to get all the buttons done, no matter how hard he sucked in his stomach. No matter. They were on.

They didn't fit him much better than his own trousers did. They were too tight in the crotch and thighs, and too loose at the bottom, where the legs bunched up and made it look like he had Great-Aunt Ursula's ankles. He was already starting to sweat in the moisture-impermeable material, and he felt awkward and ungainly when he moved. Again, nothing new.

Now for a mirror. Sirius had one, of course, a portrait-sized one over his nightstand. Peter knew from experience that if you stood on Remus' bed, you could see your whole body in it. Ever mindful of possible sounds from the stairway, he balanced on the mattress and turned and stretched to see all possible angles.

And... he didn't look half bad. Yes, he had to pull his jumper down so that you couldn't see his pudgy stomach bulging out of the front, and to ignore the folds of extra material resting on his feet, but there was obviously something about black leather that accorded anyone an instant coolness factor.

He relaxed a bit, feeling triumphant. This was exactly what he needed. All he needed to do now was find out where Sirius had them from, and either flatter him into getting Peter a pair as well, or make a plan for getting them himself when he went home for Christmas. One way or the other, though, Peter was going to remake himself in the image of a true Marauder.


End file.
